Bring On the Rain
by LadyStarblade
Summary: "He shook his head as hard as he could, as if he could shake the voices, the nightmares out of his head." A post-"Stalker" Nick-fic.


Title: Bring On the Rain  
Author: Lady Starblade  
E-Mail: csi_cat@hotmail.com  
Rating: PG-13  
Category: Vignette, Angst  
Spoilers: (or at least mentions of) "Boom," "Organ Grinder," "The Stalker," and "Anatomy of a Lye"  
Archive: Anyone who wants it. Just tell me first.  
Feedback: I live for it.  
  
Disclaimer: The CSI universe and the characters that inhabit it were created by Anthony Zuiker, not me. They are owned by CBS, not me. I am making no money, and I'm too poor to be worth suing.  
  
Author's Note: It's Nick-fic! It just seems that sometimes he's the eternally perky member of our little band. That's a bit unbelievable after what he's gone through recently. This is dedicated to Meela; I know you're going through tough times, but I believe in you!  
  
Summary: "He shook his head as hard as he could, as if he could shake the voices, the nightmares out of his head."  
  
********************  
  
The sky had been threatening for hours. Flickering lightning and softly growling thunder followed Nick into his apartment. Shrugging out of his jacket, he couldn't stop his eyes from flicking around, examining all the dark corners. It had been three weeks since that nut had come after him. Physically Nick was healed, but in other ways....  
  
A brilliant bolt of lightning flashed, sending light cascading through the room. Shadows leapt onto the walls, and Nick could swear he felt his heart stop. He lunged for the nearest lamp, almost knocking it over in his haste to turn it on. He continued on, switching on every light he had. Yellow-tinged light now filled every corner, giving the apartment an almost sterile look.  
  
Breathing heavily, Nick now stood in the center of the living room, standing on the hardwood floor left behind after he had had that damn carpet torn up. 'Green tea! Green tea! Does that mean anything to you?' He shook his head as hard as he could, as if he could shake the voices, the nightmares out of his head. Glancing at the nearest window, he could see the sheet of water pouring down the glass. This, he thought, is what they call a gullywasher.  
  
Just like the one that killed Cathy Warner. Is this how she felt? Desperately scrabbling for some kind of handhold? Looking for something, anything to keep her from falling while the water poured over her? He could imagine how she had felt. He could feel the rain pounding down on him, trying to sweep him away. His grip weakening bit by bit....  
  
He made his way into the kitchen in search of a beer. He pulled one out of the fridge and twisted the top off. Tossing his head back, he gulped a good half of the bottle down. He set it down on the countertop and rested his hands on either side of it. He let his shoulders slump as he tried to loosen the knot in his chest. Every day, it took a little more out of him. It took so much effort to keep the facade up, to convince everyone he was fine. That he was just good old Nick, who didn't have a care in the world, no worries, nothing that could fracture his friendly nature.  
  
The thunder crashed, and Nick could feel the slight vibration under his hands and feet. It was getting nasty out there. He snatched the bottle back up and drained it. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned and tossed the bottle at the trash can a few feet away. It bounced off the edge of the can, dropping to the floor and shattering. After staring at the shards for a few seconds, he hunted up a newspaper section to use as a dustpan.  
  
A few minutes later, the glass was swept up and back in the trash can. Nick picked up the bottleneck, which had remained intact, and became fascinated with the jagged edge. He spun it slowly, watching the light play off the sharp end. With an almost audible snap, he jerked his head up. He sprung to his feet and hurled the bottleneck into the can with enough force to shatter the remains. He rubbed his hand across his forehead and took a deep breath.  
  
Then, slowly, he began moving back through the apartment, turning off the lights one by one, leaving only one small lamp still burning. Lightning flashed again, and Nick turned to the window. He could see his reflection, a faint outline, silhouetted on the pane. He found this appropriate; he felt like a shadow of his former self.  
  
He supposed it had all started with Kristy's death. No case had ever touched him so personally, come so close. The unraveling had started that day. He hadn't really noticed it at the time. He had mourned for Kristy, and then he had thought he had moved on.  
  
Then, when he had to track down Bob Fairmont's organs, he had met Carl Mercer. A friendly man, so determined to live. And when he had looked up into Nick's eyes, when he realized that the kidney was not going to take and that he would die, and offered up the kidney, Nick had never been so disgusted in his life. Nick felt filthy, like a vulture swooping in at the scent of death. Never before had his job repulsed him. He refused the offer and went back to the lab to face Grissom with his realization.  
  
Nick remembered the slightly shocked look in Grissom's eyes. And Nick knew it wasn't so much the sentiment, but who it had come from. Every CSI found some aspect of the work unpleasant, but Nick was willing to bet Grissom hadn't expected to hear it from him. Steady, hard-working Nick, who almost never complained, and then only good-naturedly.  
  
He walked closer to the window and leaned his forehead against the cold glass. Being hunted, being thrown out a window....merely sparks to the tinder already laid. This had been a long time coming.  
  
Grissom knew, Nick was certain. His supervisor could be utterly unaware to personal issues unless he was specifically alerted to them. That's what Nick had done; let Grissom know that something was wrong underneath the surface. But Grissom would not interfere. Being an intensely private person himself, Grissom would not get involved unless Nick asked him.  
  
Maybe the only other one to have an inkling was Warrick. Nick had caught his fellow CSI and friend giving him odd looks from time to time, as if he could sense something more. He had asked a few times how everything was going, and recently had been going out of his way to spend time with Nick. They had actually played a few pickup basketball games recently, something they hadn't had much time for of late.  
  
But like Grissom, Warrick was not one to pry into other people's affairs without invitation, particularly a friend's. Besides, Warrick had demons of his own. Nick didn't feel right burdening him with problems that weren't his to begin with.  
  
Nick sighed, his breath forming a cloud of condensation on the window. He knew he couldn't keep doing this. In the end, he knew he was going to have to ask someone for help. He had tried to deal with it alone, to heal in time, but it wasn't working. It clutched and tore at him, as if it were determined to bring him down.  
  
But he wouldn't let it. Coming to a decision, he lifted his head and stared out into the storm. He would make it through this. He would do whatever he had to to beat this, to survive and come out even stronger. He nodded to his reflection and quirked a half-smile. It felt odd and kind of silly to give himself a pep talk. But oddly enough, he felt a little better, like he was finally on the move again.  
  
That night, the nightmares didn't come.  
  
**  
  
"Tomorrow's another day  
And I'm thirsty anyway  
So bring on the rain...."  
--Jo Dee Messina, "Bring on the Rain"  
  
**  
  
END 


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